The Mylovzorovs: a short course

In a group portrait of Kyiv residents, the Mylovzorovs family of artists would be a focal point with Oleksandr Mylovzorov in the center. His close friends call him Sashko, and to his admirers he is Petrovych. His passions are his work and food. Once he had a pet cat, but it ran away from his studio. It returned several times to eat. Olexandr has a daughter named Oksana, the apple of his eye, and a granddaughter Liza, who has broken the family tradition by deciding to dedicate her life to music.

Sashko, what do you remember from your childhood?

I was born in Kyiv. Our family lived near a small church in which I was baptized. It was in 1938. When the war broke out, we moved to the city of Chkalov in the Urals. Later my parents moved to the village of Chervonokholm. By the end of the war we returned to Kyiv, then again moved to Lviv.

COMMENTS OF AN OUTSIDER

Fate sometimes maps out the geography of a man’s life in the most unexpected way by scattering his life years among big and small cities. Every move to a new city is a blow to the emotions, provoking new thoughts and impressions that are etched deeply in one’s memory. One should be strong physically and mentally, to survive all the vicissitudes of life and yet remain thankful to fate, to make all he has seen and experienced a material for works of art.

MILESTONES OF AN ARTIST’S LIFE

An episode from my childhood when I suffered for Ukrainian nationalism is still vivid in my memory. It happened in Lviv in 1946. I was a first-grader then. We lived in downtown Lviv not far from the old building of an arsenal. Together with the neighborhood boys I used to run to the Town Hall and Rynok (Market) Square where we could play for hours on end. The square was surrounded by narrow houses clustered close to each other. Each had a small backyard. One of the backyards was turned into a place where confiscated nationalist literature was stored. Apparently, it had been brought there from a raided clandestine print shop. We slipped easily between the bars of the railing and got into the yard. And there I saw heaps of books and brochures with bright covers and beautiful color pictures. There was so much yellow and blue color and tridents, tridents were on practically every page. The paper was glossy and thick. Without thinking long, I just torn out all pictures and threw out the texts. I could not read then. I took home all my treasures. When my mom came from work, she asked me: “What’s this? Where did you get it?” Then she took the pictures, crumpled and threw them into the stove. But the art paper burnt slowly, and this made my mother even more angry. She took a belt to give me a proper thrashing, “Come on, boy, take off your pants.” That was the first and the last time when I suffered for nationalism.

MORE GEOGRAPHY

What cities and countries had you been to before you took up applied art?

The service in army was a real school of life for me. I served in Dresden in the late 1950s. The city had been cleaned up after the war. It was beautiful. I was fascinated by its wonderful museums. I studied all of them, especially the Museum of Applied Art at the Dresden Art Gallery. After the army, I returned to Kyiv and enrolled in the Lavra art school where I studied textile manufacturing. I served my apprenticeship at the Darnytsia Silk Factory, where I was taught how to tie together torn threads. Then I went to Leningrad and entered the Mukhin Art School where I studied glass blowing and ceramics.

And then you came back to Kyiv?

Yes. I came to Kyiv, looked around, and was appalled to see that pseudo folk styles prevailed in the works of Ukrainian ceramists. I went to various art shows, attended scores of meetings of artistic councils at which Culture Ministry officials called upon the artists to stick to “the people’s traditions.” World culture and professional art were totally rejected. No educational institution in Ukraine trained professional applied arts specialists. I knew well that a potter, even the most talented one, could not create a porcelain tea service. I doubted he had ever even heard about a such thing as a tea service. And we students of Mukhinka (as we lovingly called our school) were taught the techniques of porcelain making in China, England, and France. To make a long story short, I realized that I had to do something to save the situation.

Did you succeed?

Well, yes. Actually the process was mutually beneficial. Many public buildings were under construction. Architects were working hard. Demand was great for an expert in applied art who would be able to design and make such things as large lighting appliances — for instance, large chandeliers for public buildings. I did one for the Embassy of Bulgaria in Kyiv. I hope it is still there and works. The other adorns Dubky Restaurant in Syrets, a district of Kyiv. Artistic objects of forged metal were also in great demand. A very talented architect named Budylovsky worked in Kyiv at the time. (He now lives and works in Chicago). He was author of the design for the Republic Children’s Library that was under construction in the Nyvky district. He suggested I make artistic railings for the library’s inner yard. I was happy to seize his offer as an opportunity to take out my long-forgotten tools and show to everybody that the blacksmith’s trade can be raised to an art.

You did not stop there?

Of course, there were other things. I designed and forged the railing for the grave of poetess Lesia Ukrainka at Baikove Cemetery.

Let’s go back to the time when the Dubky Restaurant was being built. Did you have a lot of competitors who were as quick as you to understand the needs of the time?

At first there was practically none. I had more than enough orders and I could choose. I earned over 400 rubles, the wage ceiling for all members of the Artists Union. Many shut their eyes at how much I made, probably because I was not taking anyone else’s bread away. In addition, no painter or graphic artist would agree to go to a glass factory to blow glass decorations for a chandelier, make a frame and other parts for it, and then assemble the whole thing.

Didn’t you have enough buildings in Kyiv to decorate that you decided to go under ground?

There were enough buildings, all right. But to work under ground was a challenge for me. There is an organization in Kyiv called Metroproekt that does the designing of subway stations. It was very active at that time, creating the Kyiv Metropolitan. The chief of the project and a large group of architects-designers were assigned to make the master plan of each station. I was part of the group that did the Taras Shevchenko Station. We planned to make it of white marble to look like a Ukrainian village cottage. The upper part of the platform walls was to be decorated with a frieze, a richly ornamented band made of bright color ceramic. A portrait of Shevchenko made of white mable was to be set in the buttend wall. On either side of the portrait I wanted to set a book page encircled with monumental flowers. Apart from that, I wanted to “write” Shevchenko’s verse on these pages. To carry out my plans, I needed permission from the ideological department of the Communist Party of Ukraine. So, I went to an inspector in charge of the fine arts. His name was Yanko. I took all my drawings to show him how the station would look. I told him about the verses, too. He listened to me attentively, nodding in agreement. Then he said, “You see, we need to instruct the Institute of Literature to find you an ideologically-balanced verse.” It was clear to me right there that I would never be able to do what I intended because it would have taken for the Institute no less than a year to do this job. So, my idea died in the embryo stage. As for our plans to make the station white like a Ukrainian cottage, matters took another turn. The chief of the project had ordered white marble. Soon we received a few boxes of samples. Lying in the boxes was grayish marble with tiny veins. The architect sighed a little but gave his OK. When the whole batch arrived, we gasped. Instead of white marble, we got dark gray and even black. I had to hastily change all the colors in my sketches. Eventually only the frieze and the Shevchenko portrait were made of white marble, and the rest of the station....

COMMENTS OF AN OUTSIDER

More Detail About the Taras Shevchenko Subway Station.

Oleksandr Mylovzorov was very surprised to learn that Taras Shevchenko had died at the age of 47. Like all of us, he knew the great poet by his well-known portraits that depicts him as a very old man. Having made such a revelation, Mylovzorov decided to make a bas-relief of Shevchenko in his true age to be installed at the Taras Shevchenko subway station. When the work was finished, he submitted it to a reception commission for approval. The commission members were outraged: “Why is Shevchenko so young? Shouldn’t you have depicted him as a wise old man?” The bas-relief was rejected and a new competition was announced. Only one sculptor named Znoba responded. He was chairman of the Kyiv office of the Artists Union. But when he found out that neither Metroproekt nor Metrobud (Metro Construction Organization) had enough money to pay for a new bas-relief, he refused. The commission reluctantly accepted Mylovzorov’s bas-relief of a young Shevchenko. It was in 1979. It has adorned the station ever since.

What is your warmest recollection?

Oh, my warmest memoir is about our return trip to Kyiv from evacuation. We went in a freight train which stood for a long time at each stop. During the stopovers, people poured out of the carriages, made fires and cooked porridge. When the train was to set off, the engine driver gave three whistles to summon the passengers. At one of the stops, my mother set a fire and began to cook porridge in a cauldron. As she heard the signal, she snatched the cauldron from the fire and rushed to the train. To allow the porridge to cool, she hang the cauldron above my berth. As the train started, the porridge spilled all over me. It hurt terribly. I haven’t eaten it ever since.

I suppose that porridge didn’t spoil your appetite for life?

Quite the contrary. With each coming year, my love of life gets stronger. I am eager to create more beautiful things. I’ve developed a craving for building. I have remodeled and decorated quite a few Kyiv basements. Now I am working to change the attic in my house into a studio.

THE COMMENTS OF AN OUTSIDER

Among the basements to have passed through Mylovzorov the best known are the Triptych and Thirty-Six art galleries on Andriyivsky uzviz. Both were designed and created by Mylovzorov and those of one mind with him, and both are rightly considered among Kyiv’s most interesting, drawing interest far beyond the borders of Ukraine. The Thirty-Six gallery has concluded a friendship and cooperation agreement with the Embassy of Latvia in Kyiv. Under it several exhibitions of Latvian artists have been held. The gallery management has helped many Ukrainian artists to visit Croatia, Hungary, and France. Thus, Mylovzorov’s grassroots diplomacy seems to have more effect than the efforts of official diplomats who believe that Ukraine should be represented abroad only by folk dance ensembles and elderly writers.

DREAMS COME TRUE

A micro-monologue.

Actually I earnestly believe in stories about flying saucers. I would love to get on one of them. That would be a very interesting.

COMMENTS OF AN OUTSIDER

One can easily guess what Mylovzorov would have done had he found himself somewhere on the Mars. He would turn a basement into a picture gallery and call it the Thirty-Seven, where he would teach the basics of applied art and painting to young Martians. Then he would take their works back to Kyiv to put them on display at the Thirty-Six gallery. He would certainly find an opportunity to show Martians famous Ukrainian hospitality by organizing a party with vodka and Ukrainian cuisine.

I am sure that Kyiv is in love with you. But what about your feelings? Are you still cross at it for its former provincialism and infatuation with clay pots?

Of course, I forgive and forget. Am I a monster from a Greek legend? I have become softer with years and more tolerant of Kyiv. After all, it is my city where I’ve left so many traces.

OKSANA MYLOVZOROVA

When your father says that he has left many traces in Kyiv, does he mean you too?

I think he does. I consider myself part of the Mylovzorov dynasty. But I have my own path in art.

Wasn’t it your father who made you an artist?

Yes, I guess you’re right. As a little girl I used to watch how he worked in his studios. He often took me to various art shows and explained how a mosaic was made, to the places where he worked as a decorator. He obviously wanted very much for me to become an artist. And it happened. I am an artist. I graduated from the same art school in Leningrad where my father was educated. By the way, I was born in Leningrad, and I feel a strong influence of Russian northern culture and nature.

How do you understand the notion of the continuity of generations?

In my childhood, my parents used to take me to the Hermitage every Sunday. They had no relatives to take care of me. I didn’t like the Hermitage, because I was bored stiff there. “I don’t want to go to the Hermitage,” I always cried. I was five then. When I studied at the Mukhin Art School, I wanted to show the Hermitage to my daughter Liza. But she said the same thing: “Mom, I don’t want to go to the Hermitage!”

A MICRO-MONOLOGUE ABOUT FATHER

I like his works for being so amazingly fresh and different in many ways. My father is an intellectual artist, always in search of new themes, ideas, and artistic techniques. He thinks and feels strongly. His vast life experience and sophisticated personality allow him to translate his emotions and philosophical meditations into concrete works of art. He can do it easily. I can’t. Often my thoughts and feelings produce nothing. They remain within me as something I cannot explain and express.

THE COMMENTS OF AN OUTSIDER

Oksana Mylovzorova is a good artist. She has had a one-woman show of porcelain. As a matter of fact, porcelain is a very hard material to work with, and only few masters are skillful enough to handle it. Her show opened in August 1991, when the country was threatened by the Communist putsch. For three weeks, Oksana sat amid her beautiful floor vases, porcelain tables, and candlesticks. No one came. As the threat of Communist restoration passed, people began to show up at the gallery. Credit should be given to Oksana as the only artist in this country who can do table porcelain.

Oksana, why are all your creations so large?

It is easy to explain. The smaller the woman is, the larger the things she tends to do. Besides, what difference does it make if I ask one or six men to help me carry them? I make my porcelain at the Sloviansk Ceramic Factory. It is a huge enterprise that has been built long ago, apparently, to match the magnitude of Soviet enthusiasm. There is plenty of top-quality clay nearby, and I like to do things in a big way.

TO OKSANA MYLOVZOROVA, A WOMEN AND A KILN

The Sedniv House of Creativity has always been an ideal place for the painters who liked to come there and work. Ceramists were rarely seen there as Sedniv lacked the most essential thing, a kiln in which to bake the clay articles. Oleksandr Mylovzorov decided to make up for this, rolled up the sleeves, and set about making a kiln. He worked for twelve years, with love and inspiration. Once he observed that making a kiln is as difficult as raising a child. When the kiln was finished and approved by the experts, Oleksandr named it after his daughter Oksana, and the name stuck. Now Sedniv is regularly visited by large groups of ceramists.

Artists are believed to be a very emotional lot. It happened so that one of them fell in love with a woman artist and decided to immortalize the name of his sweetheart on the kiln. He wiped out the name Oksana and inscribed Lesia. But soon someone wrote Oksana again. Once this artist met with Oksana and began to complain that someone was always wiping the name of his beloved woman from the oven wall. Oksana explained him that originally her name was given to the oven.

Do your dreams come true?

Sometimes. Reality always intervenes. I came to realize long ago that I would never be a really rich woman. I think it is written in my stars. Nevertheless, I make enough for my daily bread and daughter’s education. And I am perfectly happy. After all, happiness is a subjective category. And if you feel happiness inside and around you, life will be good to you. Besides, I am a buoyant person. I never let troubles defeat me. I just step over them and go on with life. Political passions don’t bother me. Politics is a fleeting thing, but art is eternal. I learned this simple truth long ago. Of course, I would not mind if politicians were more supportive and considerate about the needs of artists. I mean not only money. But even those crumbs the government gives for the development of Ukrainian culture go to meet the interests of court art, which is also perishable like politics.

What is your sacred dream?

Maybe it sounds strange, but I would like to have an endless roll of paper to paint life in its infinity. I would unroll the paper as I would paint more and more scenes the way Chinese artists do when they make their beautiful pictures. Could you imagine what it means to embrace infinity!

Photo:
Oleksandr Mylovzorov, an artist, a philosopher and simply a Kyiv native.

Porcelain and iron, roughness and sophistication, the preciousness of a moment and term of service. These are not just contrasting notions. They are the most strict censors that mercilessly burn away everything false and unnecessary. In the photo: the end result of the constant search for harmony by a top professional, Oleksandr Mylovzorov